#on the day of wii
Context: Date night date night date night!
The Atlantic Ocean, Friday, 1 September 1939
Somewhere, a piano played in the grand dining room that was all soft hues of pinks with a sheer hint of glowing gold overlaying the walls, and Crowley looked about, trying to see where the sound was coming from, sparkling notes overlaying the gentle buzz of conversation, laughter, and the clink of glasses and silverware. Was it an actual piano or a recording? The clever humans made it difficult sometimes to discern, but there it was, just behind a majestic column, a grand piano and a neatly attired man in a tuxedo.
“Ooh, how exciting,”Aziraphale said as he sat down, straightening his quite elegantly old-fashioned shawl collar dinner jacket and white waistcoat as he did so, eyes alighting upon the menu in delight. “Our first supper aboard. Tell me, my dear, what do you think you would like?” Aziraphale pulled his little spectacles out from a vest pocket, slipping them onto his face, going through his usual reading ritual.
Crowley glanced at the menu. “I’ll have what’s suggested.”
“Crowley. You didn’t come all this way…”
“Wedidn’t-”
“Fine,we didn’t come all this way for you to not even look at the options.”
“Come on, angel. It’s not anything like that and you know it.”
“Is this about you and free-”
“Oh yes.”
“Always with the free will. Crowley! I know you’re taking a stance on a matter of principle but even choosing the suggested menu is a choice! You are perfectly capable of making choices, after all you chose to buy that car and not something else like, like I don’t know, a Model T-” Aziraphale said, immediately exhausting his knowledge of cars in one model.
“Sorry, I can’t hear you, I’m reading the menu,” Crowley said, holding up the thin sheet of fine cardstock between them, examining the menu.
“Fine. All right, let’s look at this suggested menu. Caviar. Well, I like caviar as well. Oh, but the full menu has foie gras. And a Tortue vert au- Crowley, I know you like turtles. And I know you like soup. But I also know you don’t like turtle soup, why would you just accept that without trying to change it?”
“Turtles are too crunchy.”
“I meant, I know you like turtles to look at, not to eat.”
“They’re very funny creatures, they look so friendly. I like how slow they are, except when they’re not.”
“Anyway, I’ll ask them for the Bisque de Homard instead. At least that’s a hot soup, the ConsomméFroid is too froid for you in this weather; it’s getting cooler, almost autumn after all. Hmm, Delice de sole Victoria, that I know you like, that’s a lovely delicate dish and I wouldn’t mind having a bite myself. Oh, I suppose I shall have the Devilled Philadelphia Squab Pigeon.”
“Are you sure you want that?” Crowley asked.
“Positive, after all, you’re the one who doesn’t like eating birds that much.”
“I like some roasted birds but most of the time they just remind me of too many feathers. But I meant the devilled part.” Crowley smiled toothily. “Wouldn’t you prefer the Côtelettes d'Agneau à la Navarra?”
“Just because my side popularized this lamb imagery doesn’t mean I want to eat lamb all the time,” Aziraphale said primly.
“Eh, I don’t know, I like a good bit of lamb myself.”
“Are you asking me to order lamb so you can have a bite?”
Crowley shrugged, not agreeing or disagreeing in any way.
“Fine, I’ll get the lamb. Really, you make this overly difficult. If you would just make a decision instead of making me try to guess what you’d like, this would be so much easier. All right, the filet is fine, we can share that. Asparagus with a sauce mousseline. Oh, I know you’d prefer the aubergines. We’ll order that.”
“I always prefer the aubergines to asparagus.”
“Then…practice some of that non-free-will-free-will and choose aubergines!”
“No. No free will,” Crowley said, glumly. “Not even the non-free-will type. Just order the suggested for me and don’t worry about me at all.”
“Fine. Then we are getting the aubergines. I shall eat the asparagus. I rather like asparagus. Oh, and look, they have avocado pear salad. That’s not on the suggested menu. You like avocado pear, and it’s so hard to get good ones in London.”
Crowley glanced at the menu and looked uncomfortably away. “So? It’s just a salad. Who likes salads anyway?”
“Ahem, you have always liked raw things. Fruits, vegetables, entire fish, rabbits-”
“Ah- no, I don’t just like raw fish and rabbits, I like live fish and rabbits. And hares. Sometimes lizards. Oooh and frogs. But not live birds. Too many-”
“Too many feathers,” Aziraphale said, almost simultaneously. “Gets stuck in your throat.”
“Hmm,” Crowley said, glancing at the menu again. “They also have French fried potatoes.”
“They also have French fried potatoes,” Aziraphale agreed. “You know, Crowley, if you were to exercise some of that non-free-will-free-will, perhaps you could order those French fried potatoes. As a choice.”
“…angel? Are you tempting me?”
“O-of course not!” Aziraphale blushed, and the lazy smirk on Crowley’s lips slowly edged toward an outright smile. “I am merely trying to…to…help you assert yourself a bit more! After all, Hell can’t control everything in your life and neither can the humans; you should do some things on your own initiative sometimes.”
“Even if it’s dangerous?”
“Picking the avocado pear salad or French fried potatoes off a menu does not constitute a dangerous act but yes, I suppose that were the stakes high enough and should the situation warrant it, it would be important to take initiative, no matter what is said by those in charge. All right, what does the suggested menu say for pudding course…Omelette en Surprise Elizabeth. Well, that is a nice cake and I do like the candied violets and the vanilla ice but I don’t think you would like that quite as much as the fresh strawberries.”
“There is an Omelette en Surprise that I like, which one is it again…”
“You like the Neopolitan Surprise, because it’s on fire.”
“I like the Neopolitan Surprise because it has both Jubilee cherries and marron glacé, the fire is – and you know, the hard part about ordering it keeping the waiter from putting out the fire because if I do it myself it just doesn’t taste the same, hellfire just doesn’t taste very good at all, too sulphurous and it tends to turn any pudding into ash – a garnish. The fire is a garnish. Like whipped cream on top.”
“But on fire.”
“But on fire,” Crowley agreed.
“Now, what about wine,” Aziraphale began.
“Hmm, oh look, they have a kosher menu, maybe I should order the suggested menu from that, what do you think?”
“I’m sorry my dear, I can’t hear you, I’m ordering wine. Perhaps the 1920 Chambolle Musigny, Côte de Nuits would go well with the lamb…but no, with caviar and sole we have more seafood dishes so let’s get the champagne. Hmmm, that would be the Charles Heidsieck, Sec Gout Americain-”
